Past means Pain

Henry still felt nauseous from the flight. His red-rimmed eyes throbbed rhythmically with pain, while his left knee felt numb from sitting eight hours on the plane. He walked towards the bathroom, his eyes scanning his own reflection. Shit, he looks like a man who just woke up and ran straight to the airport. He combed his thinning hair with his hands and straighten his tie. He needs to look presentable, he's an actor, a stage performer. He needs to look like one. Henry clutched at his chest. He didn't know why he felt so nervous, it's not like he's going to meet the president, it was only his dad for goodness sakes! He rests his hands on the sink and took a deep and heavy breath. Calm down, calm down Henry, he's not going to bug you today, he's sick, he's at the end of a rope! Henry splashed water on his face. He needed time to think, to meditate, to-to escape! Henry grabbed his bag from the sink. No, the old man couldn't afford to wait. Henry walks out of the bathroom turns left to the dimly lit corridor and through an antechamber where an old chandelier hangs uselessly at the ceiling. He gripped his bag tighter to his chest, his knees felt like boulders as he walked. It was not fear that drove Henry to this kind of reaction, no. Rather, it was an involuntary impulse when faced with something he desperately wanted to avoid. Henry, like most of the adults he met, was normal. He dressed normally, he acts normally, he talks normally, there was nothing unusual about Henry. Except that his name wasn't really Henry Thorn. Henry Thorn was a stage name that Henry, later on, espoused only to replace the name he lost.

Arriving at the door made Henry felt like a stick. He knocked twice, his shirt moves with the rapid pumping of his chest. Calm down, Henry, calm down. Despite the wooden barrier between him and his Dad, Henry could still feel the closeness of his presence. It made him tense. Is this what the abused feel when faced with their abusers? Henry closed his eyes and swallowed. Sweat rolled from his neck to his spine. Henry, calm-the-fucking down! The door opened, and a form covered in sheets moved slightly on the bed. On the door and in front of Henry was a male nurse, the same age as Henry judging from the small traces of wrinkles behind his eyes. "Oh hi, David Torrence," he extended his hands to Henry. Henry felt sick, he did not want the man to feel his wet freezing hands, so he just nodded uneasily. The man called David Torrence smiled and hid his hands on the pocket of his scrub and said, "Not a handshaker, are you? Anyway, you're right on time Mr. Cameronne, you're father's over there," he pointed at the bald man on the bed. "He has been asking for you, for like months, sometimes he just woke up and throw things and shout your name over and over. We just could not stop him. One time he smacked a staff right in the face and shouted "I want to see my son" and when the nurses left him strapped in bed, he cried for the whole night." Henry could not believe what the nurse was saying. He glanced at the frail form of his father while listening to David, still, he could not register the image of his dad shouting desperately for his name. It was like walking straight into a different dimension, one where his father wanted his son, wanted him. No, Henry must be losing his mind. His Dad never wanted him, he was merely a human being to his father's eyes, he was a speck of dirt, a trash that needs burning. Henry breathed, this time he will not be afraid. His father may be loud and ostentatious, but he could not hurt Henry anymore. Henry nodded to the nurse, and said: "May I have a moment?" David the sprightly male nurse nodded, walked, and closed the door as he left.

Henry sauntered to where his father lay. He looked old and weak, so different from the dad he last saw when he was fifteen. This man, this man laying right here on this crumpled bed bared a little resemblance to the father he once knew. Henry sat on the chair unblinking, he came here expecting a man who'll give him blows and injuries, this man can't even move his wrinkled hands! His dad moved his head and opened his eyes slowly. "David, Dave-" he coughed. Henry could hear the phlegm on his throat. "David, have-have you talked to-to my son?" Henry looked at him bewildered. He couldn't even remember his son's face! "I need to-to talk to Arthur, please David, let me talk to Arthur," a tear welled from his father's eyes. Henry swallowed. He could not bring himself to speak. He came here expecting a different scenario. Looking at the familiar yet different form of his dad, made him feel angry, revolted, and sad. Arthur. Yes, that was Henry's real name. Arthur Cameronne. The one that was taken from him. "Please David, I-I promise I won't curse at you again, I just need to-to talk to-to my Arthur," Henry's dad cried silently on his bed, his shoulders trembled with long racking sobs. It was all too much for Henry that he grabbed his bag and ran towards the door.

-------------------------

Arthur ran, he ran even with his shoes untied. He was running away from his dad, away from his life. Tears streamed to his cheeks, it was warm and salty as it mixes with his blood. His dad was screaming at the door, shouting, calling his name. "ARTHURRRR!" Arthur cried. He could not let his dad hurt him again. He ran through the trees, his shoes slick with mud, leaves slapped him as he passed. He ignored it. He was going away, he was running away. It was the only thing on his mind. He stumbled on a rock bigger than his fists combined. Arthur groaned. He looked at his knees, there was a scratch. A huge one, probably deep. Arthur breathed. He could still taste the blood on his lips. "Arthur!" His dad arrived behind the woods. "What were you thinking!" Colin looked at his son, bewildered. He hung his rifle on a branch and trudged towards Arthur. "No! Don't touch me!" Arthur shouted, his voice hoarse with puberty. "Arthur, just, just let me look at your wound," Colin replied. "I said, STAY AWAY!" Arthur bellowed. Colin sighed, defeated. He grabbed his rifle and handed it to Arthur. "Here take it, I don't ever want to see your remains inside a bear's cave." Arthur stared at him, his eyes blazing with fury. Colin placed the rifle on the mud beside Arthur. He stood up, turned, and left.

Arthur hobbled through the trees. The rifle hung on his shoulder. It was heavy, he could smell the strong scent of gunpowder. His dad's scent. It made him angry. He tightened his hands into a fist. He hated him. It was all his fault. Arthur could never forgive him.

Arthur recalled the time when he was thirteen. It was when all the beatings took form. It was when his mother left. He could still recall the color of her dress when she left. It was brown, patched, ripped. It made Arthur's heart sank. His mom, wearing a ragged dress. It was against her nature. Arthur's mom is a woman of luxury. Wealth is the only thing she wore proudly. It all began when the business goes downhill. His mother was frustrated, wealth was much like her blood. She couldn't live without it. His dad was devastated. He drank. He drowned himself in alcohol. He smacked his wife at night. It was his defense mechanism. He knew his life is fucked up. When his wife left, he turned his frustrations to his son. To the weak and lonely Arthur. He beat him day and night. He beat him after he drank. He was frustrated, he was mad. Smacking his son was never a satisfaction. Colin knew he was sick. The beatings he made lessens his strength, lessens his frustrations. He hated himself for it. It was stupid. Colin wanted so much to kill himself. But he is a coward, a wimp. He could not bring himself to do it.

Colin has been sober for days. He drank less, he succeeded in controlling his temper, he cursed less. It was one of the problems he has. His mouth, an uncontrollable plague that ruins every part of his life. First his job, then his wife, and now his child. Colin tried hard to be sober, he knew his son needed him. He knew Arthur is fed up. The last time he hit him, Arthur only stared at him, devoid from emotion. He did not cry or fight back like he usually did, instead, he stayed in front of him his eyes fixed on the floor. It sickens him. What kind of animal would beat his child like this? Colin knew, he was that kind of animal. It was three weeks of sobriety. Colin was satisfied, but Arthur did not look at him anymore. He ignored him, much like the dusty paintings on the stairs. Many times did Colin tried to talk to his son, but Arthur never heard him. Colin felt like a moron talking to a wall. It was the day after Colin failed with his goal of sobriety. He cursed at his son shouting obscenities. If he could not gain back his son's attention then to hell with it.

Arthur went back to his room. He was almost sure that he'd give his dad a chance. He saw his efforts at being sober for the last three weeks. Although Arthur still hated him, still, he was his Dad, and a small part of him still love him. He went to the living room where his dad always is. Today, he'll talk to him. He'll forgive him.

Colin saw his son striding towards him. For the first time in months, he met his gaze. Colin felt his chest tighten. All the anger that he had been controlling for months burst into flames. Before he knew it, he grabbed his son's shirt and punched him in the face, on the stomach, and cursed.

--------------------------

Henry sat on the tile, his back leaning on the door of his father's room. He could hear his cries, his curses. It did not scare him anymore. He felt his shoulders shook. He didn't even know he was crying. A hand tapped him on his shoulder. "Arthur, are you alright?" It was David, the nurse. His face bore a concerned expression. Henry nodded. He wiped his tears on his sleeve and stood. "Arthur, if you're not ready to, to talk to him it's alright, I understand. I'm, I'm sure he'll understand," David said, his voice slow, careful. Henry sniffed. "No-" Henry replied, his voice hoarse. He cleared his throat and added, "I'm alright, thanks." David stared at him with disbelief. "Are you sure? You don't look alright to me," David remarked. "No really, it's, it's okay," Henry replied. "Okay then," David smiled. "You know I saw your act once, the one in LA?" Henry squinted in disbelief. "Really?" "Yeah, your Dad he-he insisted that we go to your show, he was really proud of you Arthur," David said his eyes fixed on the small crack on the door. "You know the first time he saw your show, Colin, he-he couldn't control himself, he cried, audiences at our back began cursing at us and a few moments later, a guard holding a baton went to fetch us," David laughed at the memory. Henry swallowed. When David stared at him, he looked away. "Talk to him Arthur, your presence may be the only consolation he's got right now."

You've been through a lot and believe me, I understand," David looked at him, his eyes pleading, "But so does he, Arthur, so does your dad."

--------------------

Henry sat back in the chair beside his dad. He looked at his father, his eyes that had once been blue were milky with age. His skin that was once so tanned looks so thin and withered. "Arthur?" he muttered almost disbelieving. Henry grabbed his dad's hand and smiled, tears streamed uncontrollably from his eyes. "Dad.." Henry whispered.

Colin traced his son's face. He looks so grown-up, so different. Colin felt his shoulders quivered, he covered his face with his hands and whimpered. He wasted so much time when he should've spent it with Arthur instead. How could he be this stupid to missed something so wonderful? He gripped Arthur's hand between his and kissed it. "My son, for-forgive me..." he mumbled his voice shaking. "I-I should've been a good father, I was so stupid." Arthur nodded, his tears brimming on his shirt. "I love you, my son..." Arthur stood up and embraced his father. "I know dad," he replied "I know..."

The End